The pages of eyelids
The first time my father took me to the library
I ate a globe lamp
and it became a gob stopper, a bath pearl,
a winning pin ball which lodged in the left of my chest.
The glow activated endorphines,
amygdala and eyes to archive the small sum of silence.
The shelvesparted oceans,
and I was Jesus wading the meniscus of the children’s section.
This system of precision,
this rifling of underskirts, umbrellas, dinosaur skeletons
this fancy dress of happenings, evidence of indents,
trace of places not yet seen
glowed redfrom the insides of the pages of eyelids.
